


Invisible

by Lanceeselhombre



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Autistic Character, Autistic Keith (Voltron), Crying, Every event is from my own life, Gen, IK it’s like a month late, Keith doesn’t understand what is going on, Keith has ASD, Keith has Asperger’s Syndrome, Modern AU, Shutdowns, So I’ll tag, autism acceptance month, autistic author, meltdowns, mentions of vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-05 22:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14628678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lanceeselhombre/pseuds/Lanceeselhombre
Summary: Keith knows he’s different from other kids.He doesn’t know why.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1) I am aware that the ‘tantrums’ in this fic are meltdowns and the ‘downs’ are shutdowns. I also know the ‘habits’ are stims. I used these incorrect terms because these were how I described the events in the past before I understood what they were, and Keith at this time in the fic does not understand them either. This will be corrected in later chapters. 
> 
> I felt that this was important to write because ASD (autism spectrum disorder) is not very widely known still, and it often goes overlooked or misunderstood. I am almost an adult and no one I’ve ever known has noticed my autistic traits, and I’ve only found out about them a week ago. That is not okay. 
> 
> My goal in writing this is to inform the people in this community about how someone on the spectrum sees life, and to give a bit of insight into why we act the way we do. (Although I didn’t explain everything yet, but it will be explained eventually.) 
> 
> If there are ANY questions, ask. Do not be shy. Don’t feel stupid. If you don’t want others to read your comment, or you relate to a few of these events and think you might be on the spectrum as well, feel free to pm me and I will get you the resources you need to learn more. To pm me, contact me on any of my other social media mentioned in my bio and let me know why you’re PMing me, so I don’t ignore it as spam. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.

One of Keith’s first memories was him walking to the store with his mother in the middle of a bright, sunny, winter day. It had snowed the night before, leaving the grass and partially-plowed sidewalks covered in a blanket of stark, pristine white. 

 

He remembered holding his mother’s hand tightly, using its pull to guide him, as his eyes had been squinted nearly shut and he could not navigate the narrow sidewalks for himself. The snow was too white, too bright, reflecting the light from the sun too strongly for him to even see something more than  _ white _ . 

 

He looked up at his mom, barely able to make out her face from the white of the rest of the world. He remembered being confused, because her eyes were open wide, seemingly unbothered by the sun, which was blinding him. She had no sunglasses, not even a hand blocking the main source of the light, and yet she could walk along as if nothing was wrong. 

 

Despite his confusion, he didn’t ask her why she could see and he couldn’t. It felt too exhausting to try to say the right words to make her understand what he would ask. 

 

Instead, he just assumed that all kids were sensitive to light, and that he would grow out of it. 

 

*****

 

When he started going to kindergarten, he noticed again and again that something about him was….different from the other kids. 

 

His first day, he had been extremely shy, but after the teacher introduced him to an equally shy classmate he came out of his shell a bit, enough to venture out from behind his parent’s legs and enter the classroom. 

 

Within a few minutes, he noticed that he wasn’t sure what to say in between lulls of his classmate’s talking. Not wanting to seem rude, he tried adding in awkward comments, and when the other didn't seem to respond to them, he chose silence. 

 

After a long pause, in which they’d moved to a toy box and were independently playing with their own things, but still sitting relatively close, Keith spoke up again, this time about a topic he knew much better: cryptids. “Have you heard of Bigfoot?” He asked, picking his current obsession to try and start another conversation. 

 

The other boy looked up at him, a confused tilt to his head. “Whose Bigfoot?” He wondered. 

 

Keith smiled, excited to explain. “He’s a cryptid. They’re named after the word  _ ‘cryptozoology _ ,’ which means ‘hidden animal’-“ 

 

“Oh!” The boy exclaimed, seeming to get excited as well. “So like when my doggy hides from me sometimes?” He said, trying to make sense of Keith’s extremely sophisticated explanation for a child of their age. 

 

However, at the attempted clarification, Keith’s mind floored in confused. “No, dogs aren’t cryptids. Where did you get a stupid idea like that?” He wondered, completely honestly, confused as to how his classmate had made such a conclusion. 

 

Somehow, something he had said upset the other, and the boy promptly got up and walked over to the teacher, who then came over and berated him for being rude. 

 

What part of what he said was rude? 

 

*****

 

Markers were his worst nightmare. 

 

The class was working on these pretty, colorful postures for the 150th day of class, and they had been given markers to color with. At first, Keith had been excited to make the posters, having always been a lover of bright, vibrant colors, and immediately got to work. 

 

That was until his marker rubbed the wrong way against the paper, causing his entire body to violently sudder in response, and he suddenly wanted to burst into tears. Confused, he stopped coloring. 

 

The teacher came over to ask him what was wrong. Not knowing what to say- and not knowing what had happened himself- he said ‘nothing,’ and began coloring again after being prompted by the teacher. 

 

He managed to finish his poster, but after that day he vowed to never touch another marker. 

 

*****

 

One day during lunch, when Keith was eating a bag of Cheetos, he suddenly got scolded for sticking his tongue out at another student. Completely confused, he looked over to the student who claimed he stuck his tongue out at them, becoming even more confused at the clear look of offense on their face. 

 

“I did?” He asked, not remembering doing what he was being accused of. 

 

“Yes, you did.” The teacher said. “Don’t do it again.” 

 

“Uh, okay.” Keith replied, thinking she wouldn’t believe him if he said didn’t know what she was talking about. He also thought it would be a one time thing and decided he would tolerate the unwarranted scolding. 

 

But then, another thirty seconds later, the ‘offended’ student gasped and rushed off to find the teacher again, and he was yelled at for a second time. 

 

“I told you not to stick your tongue out!” The teacher said, sounding upset. 

 

Keith’s brow furrowed. “But i didn't.” He said, not getting where the hell they were getting this information from. He was just sitting here, eating his Cheetos and minding his own business. 

 

“Well Christie says you are.” The teacher argued. 

 

In response, Keith wanted to ask why the teacher would believe her over him, when she hadn’t seen what happened, but he didn’t want to get yelled at anymore. He said whatever he had to to get the teacher to go away again, and went back to eating his chips, hoping it wouldn’t happen again. 

 

Of course, it did, and on strike three of making this  phantom rude gesture he was sent out of the classroom and made to sit at the single desk beside the kindergarten room. Utterly confused and upset, because he didn’t understand why he was getting in trouble- the teacher said they were going to call his parents even- he began to wail, burying his face in his arms. 

 

After a few minutes the teacher came out and told him she’d called his parents, and his cries only increased in volume. “Why are you being so rude dear? You’re usually so nice…” She asked, her voice soft now, probably just as confused as him. 

 

“I-I d-don’t kn-know!” He sobbed, feeling horribly overwhelmed. “I just w-wanna go h-home!!” 

 

That was not at all what he had meant to say, however. He wanted to ask what he’d done that had been interpreted as rude. He wanted to ask why he was getting in trouble for an event the teacher didn’t even see. He wanted to ask  **why** . 

 

The teacher sighed and gently rubbed his back. “I’m sorry sweetie, but you can’t do that.” She informed him. 

 

He cried inconsolably for the rest of the school day.

 

*****

 

When he went home that day and explained to his mother his version of the story, she explained to him that he couldn’t lick his lips to get the cheese dust off from the Cheetos, because it looked like he was sticking his tongue out and that was rude. (Apparently him eating his damn chips caused the whole event.) 

 

He didn’t understand why he couldn’t kick his lips if they were dirty, but he simply nodded and stayed to himself until bed, breaking down in tears every few hours from confusion, frustration, and sadness. 

 

*****

 

Keith was not an overly picky eater, but there were four foods he refused to eat: mashed potatoes, cooked mushrooms, peas, and stuffing. He got away with the last three, because he ate enough vegetables to not be coerced into eating the mushrooms or peas, and stuffing was a rare dish in his house. 

 

However, his parents  _ made  _ him eat mashed potatoes. They said it was because he needed the iron or something like that. He refused though, and told them that he didn’t like potatoes because they made him want to vomit. His parents said he was just saying that to get out of it. 

 

So he was spoon fed and entire plate of mashed potatoes in bites he felt were way too big, crying and trying not to vomit onto the plate the whole time. He was convinced that vomiting would only make them angrier and earn himself a spanking. 

 

*****

 

Keith didn’t know why, but sometimes when his mom talked he would get really frustrated and upset. His reaction confused him; his mother had never hurt him or yelled at him, and it didn’t only occur when she was disciplining him, so why the negative emotions? 

 

After a few months, he noticed that when he felt that way it was consistently connected with when she raised her voice, whether in excitement or happiness or distress, and the rise in volume would make his ears vibrate uncomfortably. The emotions would rise with that vibration, so he concluded that, for whatever reason, mom talking too loud made him feel bad. 

 

The next time he felt that same surge of negativity, he politely asked his mother to quiet down and told her she was talking too loud. 

 

Mom told him to shut up, and that she wasn’t being too loud; it was just him. 

 

He never brought it up again. 

 

*****

 

Why the fuck is it not acceptable to stick your tongue out as a five year old, but at twelve others can do it to you, and when you try to get them in trouble you’re the immature baby?

 

*****

 

As Keith started reaching middle school age, he began wondering why he didn’t seem to have many friends. 

 

As a younger kid it didn’t matter to him as much, he didn’t relate to the others as much and getting good grades seemed much more important than being social (because his parents expected all As and the teachers yelled when the students talked.) 

 

But now, it was a confusion that was slowly moving from the back of his mind to the front. All of his classmates had someone they hung out with all the time. They went over their house, texted 24/7, and were never apart during school. Meanwhile, he had maybe three people he would talk to about homework and the weather. 

 

He didn’t understand why everyone else could make such deep friendships when he couldn’t. 

 

*****

 

It’s awfully lonely not having friends at school or siblings at home to talk to. 

 

He had his parents, but it wasn’t the same. 

 

*****

 

Keith felt a very similar sense of upset to when his mom talked too loud when his routine was changed in some way, but in a much more intense fashion. 

 

He’d been told stories by his grandmother that when he was a toddler, he love coloring, and if his parents tried to interrupt him before he was finished he would throw the worst tantrums. She alluded his distress to the look of physical pain. She said she thought he was OCD because of it. 

 

Keith looked up OCD- obsessive compulsive disorder- and ultimately decided he did not agree with his grandmother on that. He did not do ritualistic actions to ward off bad feelings. 

 

However, whenever some part of his routine changed, he felt that the allusion of his feeling to physical pain was correct. 

 

One specific memory comes to mind that he felt was the greatest representation of this.

 

One day his family went shopping at Target, which was something he hated in itself- he didn’t know why, but something about stores made him uncomfortable. Mom promised they were going home after the trip, though, so he pushed through and happily climbed into the car afterwards. He happily watched the scenery go by on the drive home, until he noticed this didn’t look like the way home. 

 

He asked mom if they were going home. She said they had to stop at the gas station first, the tank was almost empty. 

 

Instantly, he yelled at her with a rage he couldn’t ever remember having, demanding that they go straight home because she said that’s what they were doing. When she scolded him in return, seeming to get angry herself for his outburst, his angry yells devolved to frustrated tears and he stopped arguing, not liking the way the argument was making him feel. 

 

When they got home, he was sent to his room, and his tv privileges were revoked. This only made him more angry, causing him to stomp up the stairs to his room and earning himself another round of scolding. 

 

At the end of it all, he sat on his bed crying, angry and confused because his mother didn’t understand his frustration, and he didn’t understand why she’d been so mad at him for his. 

 

After similar events occurred on several different occasions, he deduced that his mother must not like yelling, and restrained himself whenever he felt himself want to yell and scream because of the changes. Instead, he cried to himself, frustrated and upset and not knowing what to do about it. 

 

*****

 

Keith has always had several habits, little motions he made that he wasn’t entirely aware of most of the time. For awhile, he thought they were harmless, and didn’t do anything about them, but eventually he committed himself to quitting these seemingly pointless motions. 

 

Some- like biting his nails- he quit for his health, because he had accidentally torn his nails and the surrounding skin to shreds multiple times. 

 

However, the majority of his habits- rolling his earrings (he got his ears pierced when he was seven, but stopped wearing them after three years to convince himself to stop this one), clapping his hands, bouncing on his toes, rubbing his face, and pulling at this one piece of hair that rested right in front of his ears- he quit because they irritated the hell out of his family and he frequently got yelled at for doing them. 

 

He never understood why they irritated people, though. The motions never caused him any harm or distress either (with the exception of the nail biting) so he didn’t think he should stop them. He did though, because he just wanted everyone to stop being so mad at him all the time. 

 

*****

 

Soon after enrolling in high school, Keith noticed he had these odd bouts of time where he would get extremely tense, uncomfortable, and generally unhappy, to the point where he didn’t feel as if he could talk and he found it too difficult to speak to anyone. They happened fairly often, and surprisingly he couldn’t figure out what caused them or why they happened despite their frequency. 

 

Thankfully, he didn’t have to really deal with the odd spells because it wasn’t like anyone talked to him at school anyway. They didn’t seem to happen very often at home, so it wasn’t an issue there either. 

 

The times when he felt ‘down’ just became another part of his daily life. 

 

*****

 

There’s only one time Keith can remember having a tantrum past being a young kid. 

 

He was staying at school after the school day had ended, waiting for his parents to pick him up. They were a little late because of a car accident on the highway. He didn’t mind waiting all that much though, he could do his homework while he waited and then relax. 

 

It took him ten minutes to do his homework, and by the end he was feeling awfully tense and uncomfortable, things he had come to learn meant he would start feeling ‘down’ for awhile. He went with it and set up at an open table in one of the hallways so he could wait until his parents arrived. He put his earbuds in his ears to listen to some music, put his head down, and covered his head his the jacket he never left home without, hoping he would feel a bit better by the time he left. 

 

And he started to feel a bit calmer, which was nice. 

 

Until someone tapped him on the arm. 

 

“Hey man, what are you OD’d?” Asked a rough, old voice, more likely to be a janitor or other staff member rather than another student. He was confused what the guy meant by ‘OD’d,’ but he gave him a thumbs up in hopes he would take it as an ‘Im okay leave me alone’ gesture. He really wanted the guy to go away, because something about that tap on his arm made him bristle and feel stiff. Not to mention the guy was talking much louder than he needed to in this quiet hallway. 

 

Seeming to get it, he walked away, and Keith relaxed a little. But only a little. 

 

He zoned out after that, listening to his music. 

 

Some time later, he heard three people talking in front of him. At first he thought they were students who just happened to stop there and gossip. He realized that was not the case when he recognized one of the voices as that faculty member from earlier. He was with what sounded like two other faculty members, and talking about  _ him _ . 

 

That irritated him, but he just ignored them, hoping they would ignore him too. The school didn’t close for another few hours, they had no reason to bother him. 

 

Despite this fact, one of them tapped him  _ again _ . “Hey, excuse me? You can’t be here.” A slightly younger voice said. 

 

Keith squeezed his fists shut at the illicit touch, then jumped to his feet at the words, doing so so quickly that he banged the chair against the wall and accidentally flipped his hair in his face as the jacket came off his head, limiting his vision of the three people that were bothering him. He didn’t quite understand what was going on, other than that he felt a tight ball settle in his chest and it had just exploded in a fit of anger and frustration and adrenaline. 

 

When he opened his eyes to look at the jerks who wouldn’t leave him alone, all he could see was white, and the faint outline of the three men’s features. He didn’t have time to stop in confusion at that though, because his body began moving to pick up his stuff on its own, quickly slinging his bag over his shoulder and gathering what he’d dropped on the table in an attempt to  _ get out _ . He didn’t know why, but some autopilot had turned on in his brain and his actions didn’t feel like his anymore, and the only thought he had was  **get out** . 

 

“There’s no reason why I can’t be here.” He growled as he turned to leave, noticing that his voice had an odd warble to it, which he didn’t understand either. He didn’t care that they were trying to kick him out though, he was leaving regardless because he wanted to be away from this situation. 

 

All he got in response before he was out the door was an aborted, “Yeah, I know that-“ and a yelled “Have a nice weekend!” 

 

If they were still in earshot he would have told them to go fuck themselves. 

 

He walked as fast as he could to the nearest stairway and plopped down on the steps, breathing erratically. He knew he should feel fine, logically, because he’d removed himself from the situation and that usually called him down, but all he could do was sit there and shake and breathe heavily like he was having a panic attack, but without the chest pain or jelly legs he got when he panicked. Based on that, he knew this wasn’t a panic attack, but he didn’t know what else it could be. 

 

After a moment of sitting there in silence, he began to inconsolably cry. Not matter how hard he tried he couldn’t stop, and nothing he did calmed himself down. All he could do was let it happen and choose songs on his playlist, hoping that listening to his favorites would eventually soothe his tears. 

 

It seemed like it did, eventually. After forty minutes of crying the tears finally stopped, and he simply sat there, quiet and still, worried that standing up out of the ball-like posture he’d pulled himself into would restart the event. 

 

Twenty minutes after that, he forced himself up because his parents had arrived. 

 

Normally, when he got ‘down’ he could talk again after ten minutes, and comfortably after a half hour. This time it took him an hour to utter anything at all, and he didn’t feel comfortable for the next three days. 


	2. Chapter 2

Keith has always loved piloting. Ever since he was young he loved learning about ships, about how they worked and how they were made. Knowing how his aircraft ticked gave him an odd sense of comfort and made him feel more in control in the pilot’s seat. Piloting itself was relaxing to him, the slight difficulty of it was perfect for him to concentrate and focus on, it being one of the only things that could slow his constantly racing thoughts for a few blessed hours. That being said, it was one of his favorite pastimes. 

 

When he wasn’t battle the Galra empire. 

 

The chaos of battle ruined the calm focus he usually gained from piloting, and instead of relaxing into the motions of his lion like he wanted, he tensed like a taunt bow. 

 

His first experience with fighting inside Red had not been fun. In space he couldn’t hear the sounds of other spaceships flying or the boom of them exploding as they were shot down- thank God- but he could very  _ vividly  _ hear his teammates shouting (quite frantically he might add, it had been their first fight and without much training) across the coms. At random, the syllables they spoke rang and vibrated uncomfortably in his ears, making the mess of asteroids and Galra fighters and the other lions in his vision swim. 

 

And if all that wasn’t bad enough, his spacesuit was abrasive as  _ hell _ . It looked nice enough on a hanger, but when he was wearing it and it was pressed tight against his skin- which would feel really nice if it weren’t for the type of fabric- every little movement sent gross shivers down his spine. It was horrible. 

 

When it was all finally over, he felt so incredibly tense and uncomfortable that he couldn’t really suppress the urge to frantically flap his hands once he was back in Red’s hanger and the chaos was over. He stayed in his chair for a moment and let himself do it, knowing that in a minute or two he would be calm enough to stop and get to his room, where he could finally take off this horrible suit and put on his much more appealing jacket and jeans. 

 

When he decided he was okay he stood and left the cockpit, still shivering in discomfort with every step because of his paladin armor. He flapped one hand whenever the sensation became a bit too much and he felt the (unfortunately familiar) want to cry from it, anxious that he might suddenly burst out howling and someone would hear. He also tried to make the motion as discreet as possible, not wanting someone to notice that either. 

 

Thankfully, he got to his room without shedding tears or being confronted, and he quickly ripped off the paladin armor and bodysuit as soon as his door closed. The scratchy fabric clung to his skin ever so slightly as it came off- he’d been sweating- and his body took that as the last straw. 

 

His body began to shake with adrenaline as he cried, his diaphragm spasming and making him gasp for air that he didn’t need. He held his arms away from his body, not wanting to feel another sensation, not with how the sticky scratch of the suit was still pulsing in his skin, even though the suit was discarded harmlessly on the floor. He might as well have still had the thing on with how vivid the feeling was. 

 

He needed a distraction, so he started pacing the room, trying to focus on the floor under his feet or the gentle, cool breeze of the air moving over his body as he walked. It only worked somewhat, the overpowering feeling of the suit always rushing back to takeover his senses. 

 

He had no idea how long he’d been pacing by the time he stopped crying and the phantom sensation of the suit faded. All he knew was that the rest of the team must be wondering where he was, and that he should get changed to meet them for debrief (assuming they hadn’t started without him, then they would be done by now.) Still, as he changed into his normal clothes, which usually felt nice, his skin tingled uncomfortably, feeling raw.

 

Keith took a deep breath before he stepped outside his room, instantly regretting it. He kept his room dim, since bright lights stressed him out, so suddenly going from that to the bright fluorescents in the hallway was overwhelming. He could also hear the ever present buzz of the electricity coursing through the bulbs, his head seeming to vibrate in sync with the sound. 

 

His eyes drooped in an unconscious effort to lessen the amount of light assaulting him. He didn’t move to turn around and escape to the dimmer lighting in his room, though, due to the way his brain muddled and slowed until his mind felt like it was made of molasses. Thinking suddenly became a task he couldn’t manage, and the world around him mixed into a meaningless blur.

 

Suddenly, a hand was on his arm, and all he could do in response was pull away, his limb heavy and hard to move. Whoever was there with him didn’t seem to get that he didn’t want to be touched, and he was half pulled and half dragged somewhere until it was suddenly dark. The hands gently pushed him down onto a surface that gave a little with his weight, and he reluctantly settled down on it, figuring the hands would go away if he stayed where he’d been put. His hope turned out to be true when something was placed on his head and it became silent, and he was left alone after that. 

 

*****

 

It felt like a long time before the world started to become defined again. Slowly, he could recognize shapes- the door, the closet, a storage chest. He realized he was laying on a bed. The things on his head were headphones. 

 

This was not his room. 

 

There was another person in the room with him who he could not identify just yet, sitting in a chair nearby and fiddling with an object he’d never seen, and his still recovering brain inferred that the room must belong to them. They looked up at him when he turned his head to look at them, but they quickly went back to their fiddling and left him alone. 

 

Eventually, Keith recognized the other person as Lance, and what little of his mind was working floored. Didn’t Lance like, hate his guts? Why did he bring him to his room, lay him down on his bed, let him wear his headphones, and was currently watching over him? 

 

Now aware enough to be confused, he sat up, pleasantly noting that the previous weight of his body had gone away. 

 

Lance looked over at him, offering a small smile. “Hey.” He greeted, his voice coming through the headphones like a whisper, which Keith was happy for. He also noticed that the headgear stopped certain syllables from vibrating in his ears as Lance continued speaking, which was a very welcome change. “Can you talk yet?” 

 

Keith’s brow furrowed at the question. He opened his mouth to attempt to talk. “Ye..ah.” He replied, his voice raspy and quiet, but definitely there. 

 

Lance looked relieved by that. “Good. I was wondering how long it would take before you came out of it.” He said, not making any sense to the other teen. 

 

He stood from the chair and moved over to the bed, taking a seat next to Keith. The brunette looked at him with a hard expression, softened slightly by what he thought was worry (he wasn’t good at identifying emotions.) “How come you haven’t told us you’re autistic?” He asked. 

 

Keith frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?” He asked in response, his speech a bit slower than he would like. This was the first time he’d heard the term ‘autistic’ and he didn’t know why Lance was using it to describe him, or accusing him of not saying he was it. 

 

“You’re autistic? You have ASD? Autism?” Lance tried again, motioning with his hands for a purpose Keith didn’t understand. 

 

“No? What’s that?” He questioned, only getting more confused by the other words the blue paladin was mentioning. 

 

It was Lance’s turn to look floored, and he was silent for a moment before he said, “You’ve never been diagnosed?” 

 

“No??” Keith replied, starting to get a little frustrated because Lance wasn’t explaining all these strange words to him. 

 

“Well fuck.” The teen breathed. “Um, okay. Then, I’m like one hundred percent sure you have ASD, or an Autism Spectrum Disorder. It causes communication and social issues and interferes with other things like sensory processing. It would explain why you just had a meltdown and then a shutdown.” 

 

Keith barely processed half of what he said, and from his teammate’s initial explanation he immediately rejected the concept. “I can talk. And feel things.” He said in a condescending tone he accidentally made too intense, thinking Lance was stupid for saying he had trouble communicating when he was very obviously communicating with him at the moment. 

 

“Yes, obviously. But you’ve been nonverbal for the past few hours. And having sensory processing issues doesn’t mean you can’t feel sensation.” Lance explained. “Look, I can tell you’re confused, but just let me explain kind of from the beginning, okay? This is a big topic and I’ll get lost fast if I’m just trying to clear up confusions.” 

 

With slight reluctance, Keith consented. He sat back, getting the feeling that this would be a long discussion. 

 

*****

 

About two hours later, Lance had managed to get Keith to have a basic understanding of ASD. To summarize: it was a neurological condition that impaired a lot of different functions, but most notably was communication and social skills. Other than that, Lance had explained to him that he had a brain that tried to live life unfiltered, which made him sensitive to sensory input and made it easier for him to become overwhelmed by it. Sometimes, the overwhelm became too much, and that resulted in the two events he’d experienced after the battle in the lions; a meltdown and a shutdown, two different responses to the flight or fight response, something the brain defaulted to when it didn’t know how to react. They were also what he’d been incorrectly labeling as ‘tantrums’ and ‘downs.’ 

 

Lance said he believed he had type one ASD, known as Asperger’s syndrome, because Keith told him he started speaking on time and had an above average IQ. Also, he said a different type of ASD would have been diagnosed when he was a kid, and that people with AS tended to be diagnosed later than people with the other types. 

 

After that he went into a monologue of concepts Keith didn’t understand as much, talking about comorbidity, (essentially he was likely to have a few other mental health disorders and physical issues) ‘face blindness,’ ‘alexithymia,’ or difficulty identifying emotions, the importance of a good diet and good routines, amongst a few others. 

 

At the end of the talk, Keith was mentally drained from the amount of information that had been thrown at him, but he was also relieved, because even though he didn’t completely buy this whole autistic thing yet- cause how the fuck do you have something like ASD for nineteen years and not be diagnosed- it was an explanation that made his whole life make sense. It explained the problems he had in school, why he never had true friends, the problems he had at home, his erratic, intense, and hard to identify emotions, his frequent fits over seemingly small things (which Lance said weren’t as small as he thought), everything. 

 

While Keith took a few moments to mull over it all in his head, he realized something. “How do you know all this? Are you autistic?” He asked, wondering how Lance could know so much if he wasn’t autistic himself. 

 

Lance chuckled. “Me? Naw, I just have ADHD. One of my older brothers has PDD-NOS, which is another type of ASD. Once I found out I did a bunch of research and asked him to explain it to me.” He said. 

 

Keith nodded in understanding. That made sense. 

 

After a second, Lance patted his thighs and stood up, ending the conversation. “Alright, I think that’s it for now. I don’t want to try to cram anything else into your brain.” He said. “You might have memory issues too, so you might not remember some of what I said. So I think until you get how ASD affects you I’ll just keep teaching as things come up. That sound good?” He suggested. 

 

Keith smiled. That sounded like a good plan. “Yeah.”


End file.
